


Restorative

by dormiensa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healer Hermione Granger, Magical Ailment, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormiensa/pseuds/dormiensa
Summary: Lucius has gone mad. Hermione is seeking a cure.





	Restorative

Azkaban gave her the creeps.

The dank and musty reek. The eerie echoing of her footsteps off the stone walls and floor. The occasional startling cry from one of the inmates. The bone-chilling cold. The claustrophobia of the endless mazes of dark corridors. Even without the presence of the Dementors, Azkaban could trigger primal fear in the bravest of wizards.

Hermione soldiered on, glad for the warming charm she had placed about her.

When she and the guard finally arrived at the destination cell, she nodded her thanks and entered. As expected, her patient was securely bound, physically and magically, to his cot. The magical bonds were unnecessary; even when he was raving mad, Lucius Malfoy had never tried to harm her through magical means. Hermione never contested the use of the bonds, though, worried that any complaints would result in loss of access to Lucius. He had greatly improved since she had started treating him. He was still not in possession of his faculties, but at least he had mostly stopped having random and disjointed conversations with thin air and screaming obscenities at anyone who approached him. He still rebelled against his bonds, though not so much as before, when she'd had to Petrify him. 

She forced her voice to be cheerful. "Good day, Lucius. How are you today?" Lucius struggled against his restraints, muttering something under his breath. To Hermione's surprise, however, he did not flinch or squirm as her hands began their routine examination. In fact, he went completely still and even seemed to have a calm look about his face. It was too dim for her to be sure, of course, so she silently continued her examination. Satisfied that he was in good condition, she made sure that the guard could not see or hear her as she slipped a tiny package under his right shoulder and whispered, "From Narcissa."

As she left the cell, she heard him call out, "Draco, when you choose your bride, make sure she is of proper stock. The Malfoy family didn't rise to such prestige and power by birthing and raising idiots. We came with the conquering French, and it is the duty of every heir to continue this conquest ..." 

Hermione sighed.

***

When Hermione stepped out of the Floo, she was quickly enveloped in a pair of strong arms and kissed until she forgot where she was. She smiled into a pair of gray eyes after being allowed to recover her breath. Before she could say a word of greeting, though, she felt a lump of fur knock against her calves. She picked up Crookshanks and cuddled him.

"How is he?"

"The same. Although, something unusual occurred: he went completely still as soon as I touched him. That's never happened before. I searched the texts after I returned to Mungo's and even asked some of the older Healers. No explanations so far."

"Maybe he's finally beginning to trust you."

"Perhaps. I'd like to hope so. But he didn't recognize me at all, and when I left, he started another conversation with you."

"And what was the topic this time?"

"You finding a proper wife to ensure your son will have the proper pedigree."

Draco kissed her forehead before grasping her chin and forcing her to look at him. "I married the smartest and bravest witch I've ever met. My son is going to have powers that rival Dumbledore’s." 

He wiped away a tear from her cheek as she chuckled shakily. "In that case, Gryffindor will have its hands full. Imagine that: our son will probably be the first Malfoy ever to be Sorted into my House."

"He will _not_! With all that inbred inheritance, the worst he can do is Ravenclaw."

"The _worst_? Just for that, I'm going to make sure he spends most of his time with your idiot second cousin Baethan. He'll likely Sort into Hufflepuff, as a result, and then you'll _wish_ he was in Gryffindor."

"I thought you said Baethan was a gentle and steadfast bloke, if a bit slow in the head."

"And he is. He's also hard-working and patient. If his parents had allowed him to attend Hogwarts, he would've been very comfortable in Hufflepuff."

"And you'd still curse your own son into being Sorted into dunderhead Huff?" 

" _I_ don't think they're dunderheads. _You_ do, though. So, it'll be punishment for you, not him."

"Excuse us a moment, Mr. Crooks," Draco removed the half-Kneazle furball and placed him gently on the floor before placing his hands over Hermione's swelling abdomen. "Son, promise me you'll do everything you can to absorb all of your mum's brains while you're in there. If you make sure you don't Sort into Hufflepuff, I promise I'll buy you a broom for your first birthday. Ow! Stop mussing my hair, woman! You know you're only allowed to do that when you're naked! Ow! That was completely uncalled for!" He glared up at her from his sprawled position, having landed on his backside with a thud. 

"Don't listen to your father, babe-mine. Let's get something to eat, shall we? Do you feel like having a bowl of blueberries first or should we go straight to soup? Mmm, yes, I feel like having something warm, too..." Rubbing her tummy affectionately, Hermione headed towards the kitchen and Chef Lefebvre's domain.

***

Hermione could not shake the feeling that Lucius' response to her was significant. Over the next several weeks, she mulled over it, consulting texts as each new possibility occurred. She continued to pick the minds of her colleagues and interviewed the families of the permanent residents on the ward, hoping to know what sort of unusual treatments were sought to cure their loved ones. She even researched in the archives of the Ministry, looking through laws old and new, searching for clues hidden in the text of regulations passed in reference to the treatment and rights of mentally disabled citizens.

She managed to find some tangibles, but there was nothing of practical or proven use. The Dark “cures” she dismissed outright—bringing harm or death to any sentient creature was not the way to restore full life to another.

***

"Oh, come in, darlings! You're just in time. The roast is done, and I just need to put on the finishing touches. Now, you two just rest, and I'll call you when dinner's ready. Edmund! They're here! Where are you?"

As Hermione and Draco got comfortable on the sofa, there was a rumbling from the stairs. Edmund strode in and beamed as he greeted his daughter and son-in-law. Then, he squatted down and addressed Hermione's abdomen. "How's my grandson? Your granddad's been watching the cricket match, and if England continues to play like that, we're going to the finals for sure..." 

Quite used to this one-sided dialogue, Hermione and Draco watched indulgently as Edmund prattled on. He was interrupted by Claire's announcement of dinner. "Edmund, did you remember to wash your hands? Really, dear, you're a dentist. One would think you'd remember to keep up hygienic procedure at home.” She beckoned to Hermione and Draco. “Come, you two, sit and tell us what's been going on in your lives."

Hermione told them about Lucius' behaviour and discussed the research she'd been doing, holding nothing back. While her parents had been a bit overwhelmed by the discovery that she was a witch and reticent about getting involved in the wizarding world during Hermione's school years, the threat of Voldemort and the subsequent agreed-upon memory loss then retrieval had forced them to finally understand how easily affected their lives could be by this seemingly closed-off world. After they returned to their original lives, they had put in a lot of effort to learn whatever they could about this world through Hermione. Their daughter had been more than happy to share information, gratified that she no longer had to hold back certain aspects of her life and identity. 

"Do you have a spell or potion that works like a defibrillator? You know, what they use in the A&E to resuscitate patients suffering from heart attacks or severe arrythmia? And contrary to popular belief, the purpose of the shock is to stop the heart and force it to, well, re-boot and start beating again on its own."

"Well, Dad, while obviously there are cases where patients arrive at Mungo’s requiring revival—there's a spell that functions the same way—most Healers try to do thorough diagnostics when patients come in for their annual checks. Healers place a mild tracing spell on patients and use it to monitor any changes since the last visit. They recast the spell at each new visit. This way, they can check very easily what changes may have occurred and compare those to what the chart notes say were the patient’s vital signs and such from last time. But your point is a good one—I hadn't considered looking for ways to re-boot the mind, if that's even possible. Medically-induced comas are obviously used when needed, but it's not useful in this situation because patients return to the mental state they were in when put into the coma."

Claire piped in. "Try all possibilities, dear, even if they seem unrelated. You never know what techniques in other specialties can be adapted. I wonder if I still have the phone number of my middle school friend Yvonne. We only contact each other occasionally, but she's a psychiatrist at St. Thomas so I'm sure she can give me some ideas of what to pursue."

"That'd be great, Mum, thanks!"

"Yes, thank you, Claire. I'm sure I speak for both my mum and myself when I say I really appreciate your help."

"Oh, pish, no need for thanks. Happy to. But do ask Narcissa to send me an owl about her schedule so that we can arrange another outing to Paris. And Hermione, try to make more of an effort to meet us this time, will you?"

" _Mum_ , I _told_ you that I had an emergency case last time! You can't expect me to leave and go to tea when a patient's life is hanging in the balance!"

"I realise that, darling, and I would never want you to put pleasure above the needs of your patients. But you've been so busy lately that Narcissa and I worry about your health. You have a little one to consider now, you know."

"Don't worry, Claire, Mum has a very high intuition about when Hermione lies about skipping lunch or overworking herself—it's quite the inquisition, and I'm really glad I'm not on the receiving end—so you can be sure that if there's anything wrong, Mum will be the first to know. In fact, just two days ago, Mum confined her to the bed for the entire day. She sent an owl to Mungo's that Hermione was indisposed and told Woosie to check on her every hour to make sure she was doing nothing but eating, light reading, or sleeping. And we've learned our lesson about crossing Mum, haven't we, 'darling'?" 

"It's amazing Narcissa let you attend Hogwarts at all, ‘sweetheart’.”

"Ah, but all young wizards must grow up to become big wizards. It's tradition. Besides, this is her unborn grandson we're discussing. Conditions must be optimised to ensure he develops properly before birth."

"Well, smothering the mother won't help."

Edmund interrupted. "Kitten, you listen to what Narcissa tells you to do. I don't want anything to happen to my grandson. He's to become both a cricket and a Quidditch player when he grows up, you know."

"What if he decides he likes ballet instead, Daddy?"

Hermione and Claire exchanged amused smiles as their husbands roared their disapproval. It was just too easy to push their buttons.

***

Claire had arranged a lunch date with her old schoolmate Yvonne so that Hermione could meet her and consult her expertise. While Hermione eagerly absorbed the most up-to-date knowledge that the field of psychiatry had amassed over the years on the underlying causes of mental disorders, she was disappointed that treatment of patients relied heavily on medications to control symptoms. When she looked up some of the active ingredients in the vast array of drugs available, she was not surprised to find that they were the same ones used in the wizarding world. She knew that these mostly-herbal extracts were useful in decreasing the number and severity of symptoms, but alone or in combination, they were not powerful enough to cure.

Following her dad’s suggestion, she also looked into treatments of other syndromes and diseases that, at the basic level, shocked the body into recovery. Unfortunately, the few that she found were either too specific to the organ or body part in question or couldn’t be applied to such a sensitive organ as the brain. 

What she needed was some sort of spell or potion or a combination of both that worked like a duo Pensieve and Time Turner. Lucius and her other patients were not suffering from memory loss, but their memories were jumbled as a result of an extreme external stress that caused them to retreat behind a protective wall of their innate magic. She needed something to sort and organize the memories and then unravel the protective magic so that the sentient being trapped within could be released and reconnected with his or her environs.

She was still mulling over the problem while at the monthly gathering with her friends. This time, Harry and Ginny were hosting. 

Hermione’s musings were interrupted by a waddling James Sirius, who had just started walking two weeks ago and was trying very hard to get to any desired destination as quickly as possible. Having ended his journey, he triumphantly handed the treasure in his hand to his “Umpee” Hermione. He toddled off merrily, having received the praise and kisses that he sought. After watching him to make sure he didn’t injure himself on the way to his next destination—his proud daddy—Hermione looked at the object in her hand and discovered that it was the charmed Galleon she’d made for the secret DA meetings. 

Memories flooded her mind, and it was some time before she was aware once again of her surroundings. The volume of the room having turned back on, she discovered that Harry had placed a reassuring arm around her and was anxiously waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.

“How did James get a hold of the Galleon, Harry?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, ’Mione. He’s somehow part Niffler in his ability to find hidden, shiny objects.” 

“A Seeker in the making, then.”

Harry grinned. “Maybe. Or a pirate.”

“Don’t let Ginny hear that.”

“She’s the one who thought it first. Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes, the coin just brought back memories. And no, I haven’t been having nightmares.”

“Good. You were lost in thought earlier. Still puzzling over Lucius’ case?”

“Yes. You know how they say comatose patients can sense the presence of loved ones, even hear them talking though they can’t respond?”

“Like how Ron and I talked to you when you were Petrified?”

“Yes. I’ve researched it, and I’m fairly confident that Lucius’ reaction was caused by his recognition of kin. Even if the kin in question is still _in utero_. You know the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’? Well, it seems to have some literal truth.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, it’s the reason why blood wards are so powerful and protective.”

“Right. So, I’m trying to figure out a way of using that to draw Lucius out of his insanity. I basically want to somehow reorganise his mind and make him realise that the danger has passed and he can now fully return to the world outside his mind. The prison guards told me that when he doesn’t sense the presence of another person, Lucius is completely silent and often doesn’t move for hours. I’ve seen this on the ward as well. It seems a small part of them is still aware of their surroundings and knows that they need to react—if nothing else, to make sure there are no external threats. But they can’t seem to stay aware and outside their minds for very long. It’s like they lose their sense of self—well, self-awareness. I think the way to draw them out and keep them out lies in the recognition of kinship.”

“So, you’re basically trying to find a way of regrowing their self-awareness. Like how Voldemort tried to regrow a body, but less cruelly.”

“Yes, and—wait, Harry, that’s it! If something as insubstantial as the soul can be regrown into something solid, then surely, the brain, already solid, can be revived! Books, I need books. Where should I start? Probably the library at Mungo’s. But what section should I look in first—”

“’Mione, you’re supposed to be relaxing. We haven’t even had dessert—” 

“Dessert can wait! Thanks, Harry! Where’s my purse? Don’t wait up. And feed Crooks.” Hermione distractedly gave him a peck on the lips and hurriedly disappeared through his fireplace a moment later.

“Oi! Potter! If you’re going to have an affair with my wife, at least wait until I’m out of the room!”

“My house, my rules. If you have a problem with that, you can leave. Actually, I think you need to leave. Hermione’s got a brainstorm, and you _know_ she’ll forget to go home if no one is there to remind her.”

“Gothmog's charred pecker! Why does she always do this to me?”

“Marry the smartest witch in the class, live with the consequences,” came a voice from across the room.

“Shut up, Weasel King.”

***

A week later, Hermione was busily searching through a stack of references when she was interrupted by a knock on her office door.

“Hello, Hermione.”

“Pansy! What are you doing here?”

“Taking you on an extended break. Uh-uh, Narcissa’s orders. And I quote, ‘You may be the only one in the family allowed access to Lucius and the one with the capability of healing him, but that does not mean you need shoulder all the burden.’ Madam Narcissa’s instructions are to spend the afternoon with the girls, else you’ll find yourself blocked out of Switzerland and the comfy bed you share with Draco even more thoroughly than Narcissa and Draco were of England by the Ministry three years ago. Oh, and don’t even think about hiding in your façade flat or your parents’ home. She’s having those monitored.”

“Of all the Slytherin families to secretly marry into, I just _had_ to choose the most devious.”

“Marry the biggest prat of that House, live with the consequences.” 

“You know, Pansy, you and Ron are so in-tune with one another, it’s scary. Who would’ve thought the joining of the two Houses would result in a couple who do nothing but insult all and sundry with as much recklessness as deviance.”

“Wait until you’ve sprung the sprog.”

“I don’t know what you mean. My son will be the perfect combination of his parents’ virtues.”

“Perfect like little James Sirius is perfect? He’ll be giving old Voldie a run for his money in crazy antics, and he’s not even two.”

“Or Bellatrix.”

“Or her. Now, Susan suggested we do a proper afternoon tea… Muggle-style. She’s already owl’d your mum asking where the best place is in Muggle London. We’re all gathering at her house so that you can check our outfits to make sure we fit in.”

“Well, if I must, I must.”

***

Armed with the details that Harry could remember about the night he witnessed Voldemort’s resurrection, Hermione began her new line of research by looking up this ancient piece of magic to learn more about its theory and origins as well as any restrictive conditions. Then, she began searching for other techniques of flesh revival. She did not restrict her search to European magical texts. She sent out requests for information from the Orient and the Americas and found consultants when translation spells failed.

She had been granted full access to the Ministry archives and the Department of Mysteries when she explained the purpose of her research to the Wizengamot. She had refrained from naming Lucius, knowing that there was still enough resentment towards Death Eaters that her research could be unjustly denied on those grounds alone. 

Progress was slow but unhindered beyond the restrictions of waking hours, patient care, and a hawk-eyed Narcissa. Unfortunately, it hit an unexpected and sharp snag one morning, courtesy of the ever-bothersome _Prophet_.

Narcissa had let out an uncharacteristic shriek of outrage as she perused the front page. Draco and Hermione were quickly made aware that information had been leaked about Lucius having gone mad and that he would soon to be benefitting from Hermione’s research to cure insanity. Harry had gone to great lengths to prevent the public from becoming aware of Lucius’ condition when it first presented. 

Before the young couple could also express their frustration, the breakfast table became inundated with mail, most of them vicious comments on how undeserving Lucius was of the potential cure and how his condition was his comeuppance. Those addressed to Hermione warned her not to use her cure to save ‘that Death Eater scum’. There was even a death threat: if she showed up for work at Mungo’s, she would never leave it alive.

While Narcissa fretted over the death threat, Harry’s head appeared in the fireplace, asking for permission to enter. He had just finished reading the front page as well. He pointed out something that had not registered in their outrage and subsequent chaos: the article was written by Rita Skeeter.

Harry assured them that he would take care of everything and made them promise to remain in the safety of the house until he sent word. He didn’t need to say how concerned he was about the death threat. As if anticipating her reaction to being cooped up, Harry promised Hermione that he would personally deliver any texts she needed to continue her research. With that, she had no choice but to stay put.

Ron and Pansy made a surprise visit two days later. Without divulging details, they assured the Malfoys that they had dealt with Skeeter. They then handed over individual letters of apology as well as a handful of photographs that had Hermione convulsing with laughter. These would be perfect blackmail material in future, should the pesky woman attempt to pull another stunt on them.

***

"Hi, Ernie, how are you?"

Hermione sat down with him for their regularly scheduled lunch. Ever since their first accidental meeting and lunch had made it into the gossip pages of _Witch Weekly_ , complete with picture, Hermione and Ernie had agreed to set up periodic public "dates". Ernie was the perfect cover for her marriage with Draco, and when rumour spread that the two were having a child together with no plans to marry, she did not dispel it. Ernie also benefitted from their arrangement. He had been secretly dating the younger sister of Cormac McLaggen, and neither were yet brave enough to tell her family, knowing they would disapprove of her dating a Hufflepuff.

"How's Dervla?"

"Great! She accepted my proposal last night!"

"Oh, Ernie, that's wonderful! Congratulations! When's the wedding? It'd better not coincide with my due date because I consider myself partial matchmaker for you."

"Don't worry, we've got it planned. It's her gran's birthday next month. We're going to announce the engagement then. Her gran's in on the secret and approves. She's also a bit scary, like Neville's gran, so with her support, the family can't do much."

"That's wonderful!"

"And we're not getting married anytime soon. Her gran wants her to have a proper and grand wedding, which will take time to plan. So, have your baby in peace. Oh, and her gran says to tell Malfoy he'd better treat you right or she'll hunt him down. Living in Switzerland won't protect him, not from her at least."

"Tell her that even though we haven't met, I love her already. Wait a minute, her name wouldn't by chance be Anaideia, would it?"

"It is. And yes, she's Malfoy's great-aunt of sorts. You know how jumbled up the family trees get."

"I do. And you can tell Great-Aunt Anaideia for me that Draco is still terrified of her."

"Ha! _Everyone_ in the family's terrified of her."

"Dervla's not."

"Yes, well, Cormac's terrified of Dervla, and you know he doesn't buckle easily, especially to girls."

"We should find him a bossy witch who will terrorize him for the rest of his life."

"Well, if a certain Gryffindor hadn't gone and refused Cormac’s advances, she'd be the one terrorizing him right now. Although, I have to admit, the fact that she chose to terrorize Slytherin's poster bad boy has been a great service to all of wizardkind. Gah! Kidding! Merlin, you pack a mean punch. No wonder Malfoy's scared of you."

"Draco's scared of me only because I know how to shut down any body system I choose, without him realising until it's too late."

"No, that's not the only reason. And can I say I am very privileged to have always been your friend?"

"I value your friendship as well. Despite House loyalties, I much prefer Hufflepuffs as friends. More pleasant to be around."

"Why, thank you!"

"I'm compelled to warn you, though, that if you don't do right by her, no ties of friendship will help you. She may not be my biological sister, but I consider her one, especially given that she's a Gryffindor. So, don't try anything."

"See what I mean? Scary."

***

“’Mione, you have news?”

“I—I think I’ve found the way to reverse the madness.”

“That’s fantastic, ’Mione!” 

“I knew you’d find the solution!” 

Narcissa was overcome with emotion and could not utter a word. Draco had received the news with guarded optimism. He knew there had to be a catch, and Hermione’s embarrassment at her best friends’ enthusiastic reception only further confirmed his suspicions. He made eye contact and asked pointedly, “But?”

“Thing is… I got the Wizengamot’s approval to use it, but… I—I… Lucius has to be my first… patient.”

Hermione had actually received approval a week prior, but she had been having difficulties broaching the subject with the family. She did not know how to tell them that she’d convinced the Wizengamot to first let her test her method on Lucius and use the results to measure success and fine-tune the technique, if needed. She knew the Wizengamot was not aware of her relationship with Lucius and only saw him as an expedient means of testing an idea that, if successful, would be a much sought-after remedy worldwide and would garner positive press for the Ministry that had first sanctioned its use.

To her immense relief, Narcissa came over and hugged her tightly. “I always knew that Lucius would be the one to help you refine your procedure. Thank you for giving him the opportunity to right some of the wrongs he helped wrought.” Hermione could only stare at her mother-in-law in awe. “So, tell us, my dear, how exactly does your idea work? I assume that one or more of us gathered here have a specific role to perform?”

“Yes, um, the method is actually similar in concept to the one Voldemort used to grow a new body—thanks again, Harry, for putting me on that trail of research.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “It requires the addition of three essential ingredients to a standard healing potion. They are: blood of close kin, vital fluid from a willing foe, and a sprig of an Indian herb they call Sarpagandha—we know it as serpentwood—that is harvested by the hand of an equal. Once mixed in, the potion needs to simmer for a half-hour and then cool down before being administered.”

Harry and Ron could only stare in slack-jawed amazement. Draco was frowning. It was obvious that Hermione needed at least one assistant to execute her method. “Who is going to be helping you brew the concoction? And who are the other two who’ll provide the vital fluid and serpentwood?”

“I received an edict that gives you permission to go with me to Azkaban. I convinced them that the required blood had to be fresh. They’re also aware of your aptitude with potions.”

“I see. So, which one of your best friends is the foe? I doubt either are the ‘equal’.”

“Actually, I’m the foe. And the Wizengamot insisted that I have Auror protection, um, in case—”

“In case my father’s first act after regaining lucidity is to kill you. So, Potter will be present to kill him, if necessary, and Weasley is to raise the alarm if backup is required. You can stop with the squirming, wife-mine. I expect the Wizengamot stated things even more baldly than me. I’m surprised they’d even allow me to be present. There _are_ ways to preserve the freshness of blood, of which I’m sure you’re _fully_ aware. Your inner Slytherin must’ve expressed at full capacity to wrangle my admittance. What vital fluid are you using?”

“Tears.”

“Very potent. And the ‘equal’?”

“Kingsley has already gone to Bhutan to retrieve the specific variety I need. He’ll owl when he returns.”

“Are there side effects?” Finally, a tremor in his voice, the first sign the tight rein on his emotions was slipping.

“Unfortunately, yes. His magic will be severely diminished. He won’t become a Squib, but his powers will likely only be enough to perform perfunctory spells and basic self-preserving ones.”

“A blow to his pride, certainly, but that can be circumvented by other tools and techniques. Such as hiding behind a formidable wife. It’s not as if he has another Dark Lord to serve. Besides, it’s not like it’s completely impossible for him to recover more of his magical abilities over time—we all progressed from first-year spells. How soon must the concoction be made and administered before it becomes useless?”

“I’m not sure. I’m guessing twenty-four hours.”

“Well, Potter, Weasley, what are you waiting for? Get your department ready for action. I’ll need a list of tools besides the cauldron, knife, and antiseptics. And I suggest you, wife-mine, spend some time with Mother looking through my adorable baby albums and listening to the accompanying nostalgic stories. I’m sure the tears will gush by the bucketful. Unless, of course, you need _my_ personal assistance procuring those tears?” 

“You know, ’Mione, I was going to commend you on successfully helping the ferret grow a backbone, but I see now that you’ve been a terrible influence on him. He’s still a prat, but now he’s a _bossy_ one, too.”

“Well, Weasel King, if you’re volunteering to be the foe, I know of several ways to procure your tears.”

Harry harumphed. “Pity ’Mione didn’t help him grow brains. The tears need to be given _willingly_ , Malfoy.”

“You boys bicker for as long as you need. When you’re done comparing notes on who has regressed the farthest into childhood, you’ll find Narcissa and me in the conservatory having tea.”

***

The healing method worked.

Harry gave Draco and Hermione an extra two hours to spend with Lucius before informing the Ministry of the success and personally escorting Draco back to Switzerland to share the good news with Narcissa.

Although pleased with the success of her first attempt, Hermione was worried. The Ministry had so far acquiesced to her demand that news of the success be kept from the public. But most of the populace was already aware that she was working on a cure. Each family approached had been wild with excitement when informed of her success, but several had then had their hopes dashed when she told them about the three ingredients. For these families, at least one of the required ingredients could not be procured. Worse off were the handful of patients who had long been abandoned to the care of Mungo’s staff.

Approaching the Longbottoms was especially difficult. Augusta had uncharacteristically burst into tears at the initial news. Her tears turned anguished when Hermione was forced to reveal that a suitable foe could not be found. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were dead; Barty Crouch, Jr. was as good as. The imprisoned Rabastan had adamantly refused to help, even after being told negotiations could be made to reduce his sentence. Hermione also had to point out that her concoction could not guarantee success even if Rabastan agreed: Frank and Alice had endured their condition for a much longer period of time.

However, if Augusta and Neville were willing to consider a modified procedure she’d been working on, Narcissa was more than willing to act as the foe. Hermione wasn’t sure if even a double quantity of tears would be sufficient because the sisters were so different on a fundamental level.

Hermione was about to offer them time to think over her suggestion when Augusta replied with a firm “Yes.” She went on to say that Hermione could experiment as many times as needed to perfect the modified concoction. Even if it ultimately ended in failure, that was of little consequence. Certainly, there would be disappointment on Augusta and Neville’s part, but as there seemed to be no adverse effects from a failed potion, Frank and Alice would continue as they had for the past three decades and would be none the wiser. 

Hermione was again left slack-jawed with amazement.

After a few attempts, Hermione discovered that she needed a combination of blood and tears from Narcissa and three sprigs of serpentwood to finally attain success. 

An overjoyed Augusta insisted on accompanying her to the Wizengamot to share the happy news. Having allowed Hermione to break the news, Augusta went on to brow-beat the Wizengamot into agreeing to release Lucius into her custody as part of Hermione’s reward for having found such a miraculous cure. Lucius would not be allowed to leave the property and would pass his time as letter writer for Augusta and her “feeble” group of old biddies. The Wizengamot was to also allow Narcissa and Draco to return from exile and regain all their former rights and property. Furthermore, while they could assist in promoting the cure, Hermione would retain proprietary rights to it and be the one to determine how it would be distributed worldwide. Failure to meet any of these conditions would result in the sending of already-prepared owls to every major international newspaper informing the local communities that they were being denied a cure for insanity because the British Ministry was hoarding it until a maximized profit margin was guaranteed.

The Wizengamot’s acquiescence happened so quickly and efficiently that it should’ve received an Order of Merlin, if that’d been possible.

***

Fittingly, Neville was the one who came up with the name for the amazing concoction: _Granger’s Grace_. 


End file.
